


Missing Him

by propheticfire



Series: Scenes From Fics I Will Never Write [6]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, mention of Boil/Waxer, mention of Fives/Echo, mention of Waxer's death only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 20:03:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12614368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propheticfire/pseuds/propheticfire
Summary: Boil doesn't know what he'll do without Waxer. Fives tries to offer some supportive words.





	Missing Him

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PunsBulletsAndPointyThings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunsBulletsAndPointyThings/gifts).
  * Inspired by [After the War](https://archiveofourown.org/works/489887) by [Elektra Pendragon (elekdragon)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elekdragon/pseuds/Elektra%20Pendragon). 
  * Inspired by [Boil's Song](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/334572) by PunsBulletsAndPointyThings. 



> This work is only inspired by, and not intended to be based on, the works of Elektra Pendragon and PunsBulletsAndPointyThings. It fits the spirit of their works, if not the details. And I am grateful for their contributions to the fandom.

Boil jumped at the touch on his shoulder. But it was only that ARC trooper, the brash one from the 501st. Fives, was it? Yeah, there was that tattoo on his head.

“Easy, easy,” Fives said when Boil tensed. He lowered himself slowly onto the bench next to Boil. “How’re you doing?”

Boil looked down again, at the helmet in his hands. The one he’d been staring at when Fives startled him. The one he’d been holding for he didn’t even know how long now. His thumb brushed lightly over the the little cartoon of Numa on the side. Would Fives even know this wasn’t his helmet? Would Fives realize what this helmet meant, how _much_ it meant? His hands shook slightly.

“ ‘M fine.”

Fives sighed. “I heard about…Waxer.”

Boil’s hands tightened on the helmet. “What about him?” His voice came out low, cracked, sharp.

“About… _you_ and Waxer,” Fives said.

_“What about_ me and W––”

His throat closed around the word.

Fives didn’t reply. Silence welled up between them, tense and uncomfortable. Though Fives sat an arm’s length away, he felt too close. The sense of _presence_ there, on Boil’s left, scraped at his personal space. It wasn’t right. The energy wasn’t right. It was rough and raw and bold, and it grated against the edges of a hole that _should have_ been filled with an energy much softer, more gentle and warm. Boil continued to look at the helmet, trying to bury the ache that knotted itself tighter and tighter inside his chest. With Fives’ energy pushing at him, edging him out of the cold void that had been ripped in his space––that he’d let himself fall into––there was nowhere to hide.

He jumped again as Fives touched his shoulder. He rubbed at his face, trying to ground himself. When his hands came back wet, he realized he’d lost the battle against the ache.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Fives said softly.

An icy burn slushed through Boil’s veins, all anger and pain and shame. He twisted his shoulder away from Fives’ reach. _“What would you know about it?”_

Instantly he wished he could take the words back. Fives looked as though he’d been slapped. After a breath, Fives composed his expression, but Boil remembered. He’d had someone once too. That other ARC trooper from the 501st. Lost him on the Citadel mission, Commander Cody had mentioned, when Cody had come back without any of the 212th he’d taken with him. And Boil was so thankful that they hadn’t been picked for that one, thankful that he could stay behind, thankful that even though he’d lost friends, at least he could still be with–– with––

The ache in his chest forced itself out of his eyes.

“I can’t–– I don’t–– How do I…do this?”

Fives put his hand on Boil’s shoulder once more, and this time he didn’t pull away. “It doesn’t get…” Fives swallowed audibly. “I dunno if it gets any easier. But you just keep going, you know? You get better at…dealing with it.”

They lapsed into silence once more. Boil took a breath, then another breath, trying to stem the tide of emotion pouring down his face. He reached up and grasped Fives’ wrist. It still didn’t feel like–– it wasn’t–– _him_ , but it was something, even if the cold emptiness waited just below the surface.

After a moment, Fives drew his hand away. “Well, I just wanted to come see how you were.” He knocked his gauntlet against the armor on Boil’s arm a couple of times. “Hang in there, yeah?”

Boil wiped at his eyes again and nodded.

Fives rose from the bench. He turned to leave, but paused. Boil looked up at him.

“Just…he’s not gone,” Fives said, “not if you remember him. And you’ll see him again.”

Without warning, emotion flooded up into Boil’s eyes once more, down his throat, knotting in his chest. He fought it in great, heaving gasps. “How do I…how do I recite remembrance for him when I c-can’t even…s-say…say his name?”

Fives gave a rueful smile. “You get better at that too.” He reached down and patted Boil’s shoulder one last time, before walking away.

Boil turned back to the helmet in his hands. A wet patch lay over Numa’s face. He brought his thumb up again to wipe it away, gently, lingering on her kerchief, her big bright eyes, her little _lekku_. … _He’d_ …always been so proud of that picture. Always took the time to brush the dirt off of it. Always gave it a lucky tap before heading off to fight. Boil rapped his knuckle against the picture lightly. “I remember,” he murmured. “I remember you. So you are eternal.” He pressed the helmet to his forehead, letting his eyes fall shut.

“I’ll see you again… _Waxer_.”


End file.
